


putting the dog to sleep

by hesperides



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Hallucinations, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperides/pseuds/hesperides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I saw something," it sounds like a betrayal, even before it leaves his lips, something that shouldn't be spoken or heard aloud. "That wasn't there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	putting the dog to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> while there is no explicit mention of past abuse in this, or solid implication, this can definitely be read as a ptsd related situation. i was just unsure of how to tag it.

Fushimi works well under stress. His sleep schedule's normally laughable, cutting down to three hours from five isn't a big deal to him. His hands might start to shake from the fourth can of coffee in so many hours but his work stays steady, decrypting line after line of text to feed to the field squad. It's not much more than that and luck that's keeping them the bare half a step ahead of the Greens they need to be, to make sure everyone finishes the mission in one piece.

There's no room for mistakes, but he doesn't make mistakes. Everything is double and triple checked before he sends it out, long, agonizing minutes of work measured only by sound of his typing, the rest of the office empty and dead silent. He keeps the communications link muted more often than not, now, it's too distracting otherwise, annoying. The constant chatter and static background of steel and fire wears on his nerves-- not down, never down, nothing raw or red or fraying, he doesn't let that kind of thing get to him.  


Even when the glare of numerous screens starts to make his eyes throb in his skull, text burning into his sclera, he doesn't think to slow his pace or take a break. One line of code leads to another, and another, and the never-ending monotony of it doesn't set him edge, doesn't make his neck and back ache or his wrists scream for relief. He just keeps going, _needs_ to keep going, and if he stops to look at how deep he's dug himself it'll be nothing but a waste of his precious time.

It seems to quiet down once the sun starts to set, at least until Akiyama's team finds ... _something_. A five mile area in downtown where someone's set up all the pressure sensors under the cross walks to make the matching lights turn green instead of red when it senses someone on them, there's been one civilian crash but no causalities (yet), and Fushimi can already feel the acid rolling in his stomach by the time he loads up traffic network for the area. 

They could just shut the whole district down. It would be a pain in the ass, another strain on the already equally overworked local government, but he can do this. It's nothing he hasn't done before, hundreds if not thousands of times. He lets Akiyama talk in his ear about which spots get the most use and he should start to optimize his time spent, definitely taking in what he's saying, not letting it just wash over him without listening to his actual words. He doesn't feel his eyes glaze over or a sour taste rise in the back of his throat, just mumbles in agreement to nothing Akiyama's actually said, letting his numb fingertips fall against the keyboard.

He can't really say when he first notices it. It could've been there for a while, hanging out at the periphery of his vision, mind too focused on his work to take stock of what's around him. Maybe it hasn't been there, only appears when he notices the noise that isn't coming from the ear piece.

When he finally registers it his stomach drops, the sound like nails on a chalkboard and he wants to scream, wants to claw his ears until he draws blood because what the fuck you useless, stupid fucking brat, you aren't a fucking middle school kid seeing things in the dark anymore, just stop it, you're bigger than this, just cut it _the fuck out_ \--  


The snide giggling doesn't stop. He really is going to scream.

He turns, slowly, like his whole body's been submerged under water. He knows what'll be there, before his eyes full adjust to focus on the far wall. It's the same as it always is, always has been, that familiar form that's been dead in the ground for years. His lungs feel heavy, something that isn't there pushing down on his chest that makes every breath laborious, threatening to choke the life from him.

Fushimi Niki isn't there. He isn't, never is, never _was_ , but he's seeing him all the same now, hearing him, as if it was only yesterday that he was trapped in that house with him every day. His eyes are burning and he's vaguely aware of Akiyama still in his ear, sounding alarmed, even worried. He should answer him, he knows, but when tries to open his mouth he just feels his teeth grinding down, mouth unbearably dry.

There are a lot of things he needs to do. A lot of things he should do. What he finds himself doing goes nowhere on either list, as he grabs the wireless mouse next to the keyboard, grip white-knuckled, and throws it hard enough against that spot on the wall to send the device flying apart.

'Niki' disappears, before it even hits, so sudden and jarring that Fushimi can feel it as his stomach roils and a wave of nausea falls over him when the mouse shatters, the engulfing silence of the office broken for a split second that makes his vision swim. He's doubled over before he knows what's happening, what little that's in his stomach emptying itself. (Akiyama sounds really worried now-- until he tears the ear piece out and tosses it off to the side.)

He stays like that, even after he's finished retching. He knows time must still be moving, as his phone rings once, twice three times-- he doesn't answer, head still between his knees, until a few more minutes pass and it rings a fourth time.

There's the very real danger that the device will go the way of wireless mouse as he digs it out of his coat pocket, still hunched over his legs. He regards the alerts displayed on his screen dully, not fully comprehending what they say immediately. Three missed calls from Akiyama, and one incoming, from,

"Are you okay?" Hidaka sounds out of breath, like he's just been running, or might even be running as he speaks. When he doesn't answer immediately, or at all, he tries again, clear desperation edging into his voice. "Fushimi? Is everything--"

"I'm fine."

"--okay, you really sound like the opposite of fine, where are--"

The line erupts into static as wind blows into the receiver, before clearing abruptly, distant shouts of triumph in the distance and what sounds like a dog barking.

"The office." He winces a bit when he pays attention to his voice, now, how he almost sounds like he's croaking.

"Didn't you go in this-- did you take a break and come back? Don't answer that. Akiyama said he lost contact with you and you wouldn't pick up your phone. Did something happen?"

Fushimi can't help the bitter laugh that bubbles up from his throat and into the phone, the silence it's met with only making him regret not holding it in a little. He doesn't even elaborate, just lets it die off after a moment, Hidaka's breathing the only thing coming in from the other side for a long, tense stretch.

"I'm heading back in with a few other of the guys, so just ... I'll be there soon. Don't drink anymore coffee." Hidaka sounds worried, tired when he finally does respond, along with a few other things Fushimi can't be bothered to read into at the moment. It makes him feel worse than he already is, if that's even possible. Almost angry, spiteful--

_I never asked for you to worry about me, I don't want your sympathy, I don't need any of it._

He hangs up without saying anything else, letting the hand with the phone fall to his side. Part of him wants to hold onto that anger, let it build up and boil, release it red and ugly in someone's face to _remind_ them just what sort of person he really is. 

But the feeling's fleeting, just makes his wrists and back ache when he tries to hold onto it. He thinks he'd rather just not be feeling anything at all, box all his emotions up and shove them somewhere dark until he remembers how to be a functioning human being.

He also doesn't feel like being close enough to smell his own vomit anymore. It's a weird, almost out of body experience when he gets up, feels like his head might have just lifted off of his shoulders and flown up to the ceiling. He has no idea how he manages to get back to his room, get the door open, and collapse in bed. It all seems to happen in a matter of seconds, though it has to be longer, because the next thing he knows he hears the door opening and closing, the heavy footsteps that steadily thud toward him.

He doesn't bother to lift his head to see who it is, already knows the second he feels the weight shift to the edge of the bottom bunk. The hand that brushes through his hair isn't really welcome, but he can't find the energy to swat it away like he normally would, just turns his head _away_ from him.

"I keep trying to think of a way not to ask if you want to tell me about it, but ..." It's a long few seconds before he finally speaks, pulling his hand back. "I've got a feeling I already know your answer to that."

When Fushimi doesn't bother to reply, he presses on. "Can I at least get a look at you, to make sure you didn't break anything important?"

 _Fuck off_ , is what he wants to say. He doesn't actually say anything at all, rolling over just enough so he can look back at Hidaka-- who, quite frankly, looks like shit, but judging from the wince that crosses Hidaka's face when he sees him, he isn't doing much better himself.

"Did you seriously go in at 4:30 this morning and not take a break?" He can tell by the way he says it Hidaka isn't really expecting an answer again, which is good, because Fushimi still doesn't feel like giving one. 

"You need to take a shower," he continues, of course still undeterred. "I know that's the same shirt you wore yesterday."

God. Fuck. He's really doing this. "It's still clean."

"Uh huh," Fushimi can tell he's thinking about something now, the way his mouth twitches, he's so easy to read sometimes it drives him nuts. "I got you some soup from the place you like by the football stadium."

He glances over conspicuously at the takeout bag he had set on the dresser when he had come in, which Fushimi hadn't happened to notice before now. 

"But, I mean, if you're too tired to shower or eat, I can just give it to Goto."

"Are you serious?" He hasn't really been mincing words tonight, but Fushimi has to ask. Is he really about to let himself be bullied into good hygiene by having food held hostage over him? Probably, yeah.

"Goto gets hungry too, you know," and Hidaka already knows he's won, the expression on his face slowly beginning to edge into that stupidly satisfied look he gets when he feels like he's accomplished something. "You should use the shower first, if you don't want it to get cold. Or I could just go in with you, I like washing your hair!"  


"Your weird hair-washing privileges are revoked." Fushimi grumbles, almost slurred at this point as he rolls to the edge of the bed to sit up. His head swims, again, and he falters a little as everything in his vision runs together in a blur of light and color. He can feel Hidaka at his side, suddenly tense again, watching him as he opens and closes his eyes a few times before finally getting up.

He doesn't think a lot as he heads into the adjoining bathroom to his dorm, small and familiar enough that he can navigate it without much trouble. The lights still blind him for few seconds, when he first turns them on, everything reflecting off the tile, mirror and ceramic making his eyes burn, still stinging almost painfully as he strips and turns the shower on.

Fushimi doesn't shower so much as stand under the spray of warm water, but it isn't awful. It feels good on his sore muscles, the sharp aches that he'd gotten so used to dulling just a little under the heat. It feels like he isn't even like that for long, but he can hear the door creaking open by centimeters-- Hidaka making sure he hasn't passed out, probably.

Once he hears the door close again he turns the water off, stepping out to find a towel and a clean set of clothes (all Hidaka's, he recognizes the Kamen Rider shirt immediately). He changes and plods back out into the dorm, weaving around Hidaka (who's literally just sitting in front of the bathroom door, texting) to make a bee-line for the takeout while Hidaka gets up to take his shower.

The soup's lukewarm but still good, better than the energy bars he had earlier that day between coffee refills. He realizes somewhere in between spoonfuls that he's been manipulated into clothing and feeding himself like an actual adult by Hidaka but he can't bring himself to be pissed off in the least, the cacophony of emotions that had been clanging through his mind replaced with nothing but bone-deep weariness. He doesn't want to think about the day, or what happened, or if him vomiting in the tech room is in surveillance footage somewhere. 

He slows the pace of his eating a little when Hidaka pads out of the bathroom, damp towel still around his shoulders. Fushimi doesn't say anything to him, even as he sits down next to him, not quite as close as he usually does. He should at least thank him, that's what a normal person would do, but the words taste sour in his throat, tainted.  


Hidaka seems to know, or at least notice that he's thinking about whether or not to speak. Gives him a generous stretch of time, silence only permeated by the sound of plastic silverware scraping against styrofoam, before he finally says something.

"I ... get if you don't want to talk about it," the clumsy side-stepping of the word 'understand' is obvious, makes Fushimi's fingers twitch. "Akiyama's really worried, though. They managed fine after you cut out, but ... he'll definitely go to the lieutenant, maybe even the captain directly, if you just leave it."

Fushimi knows this, in the back of his mind, was aware that the chances of it happening were high. He _knows_ it, but it's the absolute last thing he wants to actually think about. He fucked up, it's his own fault, he endangered people, can everyone else just leave him to stew in his own mistakes and self-loathing like normal? 

He can feel Hidaka's eyes on him, knows there's no way he can't keep silent in this without making an even bigger mess of things. That's never stopped him before, of course, but that weight does something to him, even if his head jitters and screams in protest as soon as he starts to open his mouth.

"I saw something," it sounds like a betrayal, even before it leaves his lips, something that shouldn't be spoken or heard aloud. "That wasn't there."

Hidaka doesn't tense, flinch away from him (he imagined he would, though he can't really explain why). The lines of his lips press together, tilt downward, his shoulders drooping a little with them. 

"You hallucinated?" His voice is soft as he answers, just loud enough to hear and even in tone. 

"Yeah, guess so." Fushimi tries to stay casual about it, fails utterly as he feels his body start to tense up again, shoulders drawing tight across his back. He can tell Hidaka's on unsure footing now, and part of him still wants to be angry at him-- for calling him, for coming in, for pressing on with this.

But he still mostly just feels tired.

"Have you ... has it happened before?"

"No," the lie is easy, natural, comes out before he can bother to stop it, and why would he? No means no more questions, a freak one-off occurrence, something they can leave to let rot overnight. "Not in a few years."

It's not the right answer, but a 'right' answer doesn't exist in the confines of this conversation. Hidaka nods, slowly, movements still measured and minimal.  
"... are you going to be okay? For right now?"

He honestly doesn't know-- what that means, what it means for _him_ , what Hidaka wants it to mean. He can cope, he can keep going, keep it under control, if they're all lucky.

"Yeah." It's more of a lie than not, always will be, coming from Fushimi, but he's pretty sure Hidaka knows it by this point. He doesn't want to delve any deeper here, dig up things better left alone in the recesses of his head.

Hidaka's willing to accept it, this time at least, gives a little nod while Fushimi digs out the last drops of soup from the to-go container. He lets Hidaka toss it in the waste bin for him when he's finished, not getting up from the table himself quite yet.

"Do you mind if I stay over tonight?" Fushimi's almost surprised he bothers asking, hasn't in a few months, and it would be easy enough to kick him out at this point. He just nods instead, exhausted of talking again, letting Hidaka switch the lights off as he shuffles back into the bottom bunk.

Hidaka doesn't lay down as close as he usually does, giving Fushimi the majority of the mattress to himself. He isn't a very good sleeper, normally tosses and turns for a while after he lies down, trying to get comfortable, but tonight he doesn't bother, falling in on his side and staying there.

He wants to fall asleep quickly, but he doesn't . His almost instant unconsciousness from earlier doesn't make a second appearance, and he lays there, fed and clean and warm but still feeling empty, aching.

"He's dead," he mumbles, no idea of how much time has passed or why he's even bothering to say it. "Has been, for years."

It hangs in the air, Fushimi feeling no better for having it out in the open. Hidaka doesn't answer, this time, except to reach out under the sheets, taking Fushimi's hand in his own.

**Author's Note:**

> and strangely this feels like one of the most self-indulgent things i've ever written.


End file.
